


We Fight On

by felassann



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5190821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felassann/pseuds/felassann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On an excursion to the Emerald Graves, the Inquisitor and her companions find themselves ambushed by those who have been tipped to the Inquisition’s arrival. Thus, the troupe will be pushed to their limits as they face this new meticulously thought-out threat, and only through the strength of their ever-growing bonds will they succeed. Solavellan & Companions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Fight On

The beauty of the Emerald Graves was something Yavaena had only ever dreamed of seeing. Growing up, Keeper Deshanna often told her stories of the Emerald Knights, those Dalish souls who protected the Dales long ago when it still belonged to the People; how every tree here acted as a tombstone for the warriors felled in battle. Looming high above their heads were those endless, towering trees serving to shelter those below from the sun sitting comfortably at is peak. Vivid shades of green glimmered vibrantly against the rays breaking past thick leaves and massive branches, the colors so illuminating she found the experience similar to walking amidst a dream.

She was very much awake, however, sharp and vigilant. Minutes prior she had slipped her companions a signal so natural none besides them could have seen it as more than a passing gesture. At first she thought the occasional shuffle from behind an animal, perhaps a ram or, more likely, one of the many nugs they frequently found themselves stumbling over. It was when the light allowed for a glint of metal at the edge of her sight that waning suspicion grew to wariness.

So she had unhooked the leather flask from her belt, partook in a lazy swig, and tossed–not handed–it to Solas. He responded in kind, offering a simple, “I am fine, thank you,” before tossing it to Cassandra. The warrior sipped the water and handed it to The Iron Bull, who instead pointed out his own full flask, giving it a hearty shake and returning Yavaena’s with an arcing throw.

With everyone alert, now the question was who? The Venatori, the Red Templars, or those “Freemen of the Dales” Fairbanks and Scout Harding warned them about? Already, they had come upon and fought with the hostile group. When? What were they waiting for, why were they taking so long to strike? How long had they been following and what were their numbers? Yavaena’s fingers itched to grab at her staff, but thought better of it, thinking it wiser to feign ignorance to whoever lingered in the trees. Were they waiting for them to make camp, where they would be more relaxed and “vulnerable” to attack? Would they strike then, and should they test that theory?

The company continued their trek through the woodlands uninterrupted, conversation light while sharing the occasional knowing glance, until they came upon a river surrounded by flat, rocky ground sprinkled with lush grass. The mask of trees broke above the water, offering a clear view of the afternoon sky.

“Perhaps this would be a good spot to rest,” Cassandra offered; an echo to Yavaena’s thoughts. “It’s been hours, and we’ve come across nothing but those Freemen fools–”

“Come on, Seeker,” Bull laughed, playing into the lure flawlessly. “A little hike through the woods not to your liking? Getting _tired_ already?”

Her gaze was sharp, like daggers–scorching hot daggers dipped in Nevarran poison. If looks could kill… “I only meant that it would be wise to rid ourselves of some stress before we’re forced to deal with more of these ‘Freemen.’ You’re the one who appears so taken with the area, Bull.”

“Well, there’s…definitely a lot of trees,” he grumbled, his minor aversion to the area quite evident. “But, I do know of some stress relieving techniques. Have you ever heard of–”

“I’m sure. And no.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Cassandra,” Yavaena agreed before moving to river. She cupped her hands in the water, enjoying the pleasant chill dousing her skin.

Soon, Solas was at her side, kneeling to clean his hands. “They have been following for quite some time,” he said quietly. Cassandra and Bull remained nearby, not but a few steps away–all kept their weapons close, all were ready to use them. “I find it curious that they have not yet made a move against us.”

“Biding their time, maybe?” Yavaena looked to Cassandra, who spoke to Bull in hushed whispers while his lips held a fiercely wild grin, some semblance of a frown on the Seeker’s brows. “Looking for weakness, something to exploit when they do strike?” She huffed, “They’re showing more effort than they have in the past, that’s for sure.” Generally, _they_ were the ones stalking enemies who were, more often than not, too quick to charge into battle praising their Elder One.

“We must remain vigilant, Vhenan.” Solas studied her for a long moment before turning his gaze to the brush across the river. “There is…something amiss, here. I cannot determine what.”

“We’ll be careful,” she promised, providing him with a reassuring smile as she rested a hand over his. “We always are.”

He returned the sentiment with a smile of his own, earnest and warm, one that soothed her spirit and set her heart alight with love. The pair rose to join their companions, continuing their idle chatter while nibbling on rations. They had originally set out from a Veridium Mine just north-east of Watcher’s Reach after rescuing refugees who had been captured by the Freemen. Currently, though, they were following a lead that tipped their general’s location–Argon’s Lodge. With their newly acquired “hunters,” however, the companions found themselves unsure of where to head next. Together the troupe lazed beside the river, wondering, waiting for the first arrow or battle cry to signal an attack. But none came, not a sound besides the rustling of leaves against the wind and chirps of various critters surrounding them.

It was unsettling.

They lingered there until agitation at the unforgiving silence overwhelmed them, until remaining became too obvious.

As time passed, Yavaena found it increasingly difficult to keep up this charade of ignorance, as was everyone else, it seemed. Cassandra’s fingers twitched on the hilt of her sword, the normally rambunctious smile of the ex-Ben-Hassrath fell on thin lips, and though outwardly he appeared calm, Yavaena had come to notice when Solas was guarded–well, more than usual. Using his orb-tipped staff as a walking stick, the long and nimble fingers curling about it tensed and loosed, his jaw taut and steady like a wolf waiting for just the right moment to pounce and devour his prey. Soon, what those lurkers in the shadows were waiting for became clear to everyone.

The cover of night.

The companions had come to a silent agreement that returning to camp wasn’t an option. The last thing they wanted was to involve the scouts holding the Inquisition’s positions–no, this fight was theirs.

Were their enemies’ numbers growing the longer they waited? Surely they would have noticed by now. Yavaena took note of their surroundings, looking for anything they could use as an advantage in battle; there was a grassy incline just a few yards to the left, it would be easy for someone to lose their footing and stumble there. The Iron Bull seemed overly enthused about an enormous boulder beside a stone statue of a wolf, a Knight’s Guardian; it was a good place to force someone into a corner–or be cornered.

The already cool breeze grew colder as evening fell upon them. Yavaena looked to her friends, and in turn each offered a confirming nod–the Bull practically beamed with enthusiasm.

“I think we can all agree that this is getting old,” Yavaena declared, tightening her ponytail and taking the ironbark staff from her back to rest the end on the ground at her side. She moved forward, peering into the brush. “Who’s there?”

Something shifted in the trees, but there was no answer.

“Come on!” The Iron Bull challenged. “Let’s do this.”

For a moment silence hung over them, then–

A fast pattering from their flank– _from the right!_ Yavaena twisted just as Solas threw a barrier over everyone, raising her staff to block the graceful thrust of a dagger. _Venatori._ She pushed him back, side-stepping to avoid another, and then another, stepping into the Fade to circle the Venatori Stalker. Summoning her spirit blade, she cut as he dashed forward, grunting when the magical sword cut through him. There was no time to wait, for two more Stalkers accompanied by a Red Templar Shadow were approaching at a blazing speed. _Both Venatori and Red Templars? Smart._ Yavaena felt magic pulsating deep within her chest; it curled and twisted and grew until the feeling became a burst of magic that enveloped her in a disruption field–those enemies closing the distance were immediately caught in her spell, and try as they might, they couldn’t force their limbs to move any faster.

The Iron Bull didn’t miss the opportunity to fall into the rhythm of battle; anticipating his next move, Yavaena ducked low just as his giant dawnstone war-hammer swung above her head, a roar of exhilaration booming from his lips. The scent of blood emanated and pulsed from the Tal-Vashoth and within seconds the Venatori and Red Templars were swept up and away, mercilessly thrown across the field only to land in a broken, lifeless heap.

Meanwhile, Cassandra and Solas found themselves driven back and surrounded by Venatori brutes and marksmen. Unable to reach their companions they took up arms, Cassandra promptly raising her shield to thwart the arrows hunting their flesh–metal crashed against metal as arrows fell uselessly to the ground. Muscles practiced and refined, the Seeker fell into stance and charged for the nearest enemy. She repelled the brute, expertly dodging a wide, violent swing, and as if he were merely a training dummy bursting at the seams, she pivoted and thrust, blade biting into the weakest joint of his armor. Closeby, Solas dipped low, palming the ground to create a rift to pull at those Venatori surrounding them and placing a mine of fire dead in the center. The first of the wide-eyed Venatori to reach the mine struggled desperately against the pull, and when his heel inevitably dragged onto the eager trap, the group was engulfed by hungry flames.

No longer paying them any mind, Solas pulled his staff back and allowed his mana to surge into the orbed tip, sending a stonefist flying across the battlefield to knock straight into a stalker coming upon Yavaena from her flank. She must have felt his magic near, for she turned, strawberry hair whipping about, and gave a thankful nod before fade-stepping to Bull’s more vulnerable left side. More Venatori and Red Templars poured in from the trees, the field fast becoming a bloody mess.

Something was wrong. Surely one of them would have sensed so many, even with as long as their enemies had waited to confront them? One question came to mind, then, and Solas frowned as he effortlessly halted an incoming arrow with a barrier, returning the favor with a ball of fire.

Where were the mages?

“Solas!” Yavaena called from across the battlefield. She could hardly see him, see any of her friends, through the numbers surrounding them. “Cassandra!”

Bull snarled at her side, his weapon’s pommel crashing and breaking into a Red Templar’s ribcage. The war-hammer swung about–a controlled wildness–clearing out the enemies striving to enclose them. Yet more appeared from the bushes to replace those the companions felled. They were holding their own, Yavaena knew, but they couldn’t allow this to continue for much longer. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t grown used to fighting and traveling for hours upon hours on end, yet night was fast approaching; both she and Solas would fair well enough amidst the darkness, but Bull and Cassandra were a different story–their vision would be hindered when they would need to make the most of their senses to finish this fight.

The balls of her feet digging into the ground, Yavaena’s gaze darted about until she found a path through the fray and hastened through the Fade, each step cold and light, dodging the many blades and arrows streaking the air. She landed just outside the field, hastily climbing upon a boulder to get a view of the battle. She could see Solas and Cassandra fighting side by side, warrior and mage making clever use of one another’s abilities, and though she temporarily left Bull alone, he hammered through their foes brilliantly. Solas was quick to catch the vulnerability of her new position, and with the elegance and precision of a mastered mage he ensconced her in a barrier before flawlessly falling back into his original cast. Even in the thick of battle she found the sensation a pleasant one, the wisps of his magic teasing and tingling against her combat-flushed cheeks.

Yavaena outstretched her hands, allowing the magic within her spirit to manifest into reality, feeling the electricity dance upon her skin until she became a being sheathed in lightning. Unlike the goose flesh that dotted her skin when casting ice spells, the hair on the back of her neck and arms stood on end as she let her magic gnaw hungrily at the air.

No, they couldn’t allow this battle to edge into the night.

So she called down a storm.

—

They watched the battle from a comfortable distance. Silent. Waiting.

It was playing out as they had predicted; the Inquisitor and her companions were as capable as the rumors suggested. They tore through their enemies mercilessly, the Qunari in particular. He could practically feel the battle-lust radiating from the ox-man, even from his position just yards away. Through the struggle, he took note of the Seeker of Truth expertly crashing and tearing through those daring to raise their blades against her, and not far from the Seeker, yet another group of Venatori marksmen went up in flames. If it weren’t for the spells being cast, it was likely that the second magic-user in the Inquisitor’s party would have gone overlooked; there was an air of finesse and prowess in the way the mage moved and cast–yet, for a reason he couldn’t begin to fathom and would never admit, he felt unnerved by him.

Gaius watched the Inquisitor glide through the Fade, becoming not but a wisp as she skillfully slipped through gaps in the fracas until she reached a boulder just a few feet outside the field of battle. It was obvious that the elf–a _Dalish_ elf, he noted–relied heavily on the Fade-stepping technique. She was surprisingly capable for a southern mage, even coming so far as to have learned the skills of the Knight-Enchanter. Never had he encountered one of the Dalish, and he found the lines tracing her skin quite odd and sat unimpressed. Reflecting now, the only elves he had ever met were those slaves back in his homeland. This woman bested Alexius in Redcliffe months prior, somehow finding a way to snuff out the Time magic he had apparently been working on for years. That wasn’t surprising. Alexius was weak, a fool.

_I, on the other hand,_ will _succeed._

“What are we waiting for?” a voice from behind asked, its timbre harsh and impatient. “Our men are being slaughtered out there.”

“Soon,” Gaius said, sparing a glance at the woman. Her hair was the color of honey that would, if let loose from the braided bun atop her head, fall in thick curls down shoulders decorated in the common heavy armor of the Templars. Her eyes were a deep brown, like the chocolate pastries served in Minrathous–but they were encased in a burning red glow. “Very soon.”

Lucille watched with disgust as the Tevinter mage cozily held his position in the trees, clearly lacking any amount of remorse for their losses. Typical, she thought, for a Vint, one who had openly admitted to using blood magic. Perhaps once she would have been outraged, angry enough to take the sword holstered on her back and cleave the mage in two for his blatant disregard for their peoples’ lives; perhaps once, she would have been revolted at the idea of working beside a blood mage–it being her sworn duty to eradicate the creature.

Now the Song sang brilliantly as it streamed through her veins, clung to every nerve, always tingling and humming that beautiful melody at the edge of her mind. The first drought of red lyrium had been one of the most painful and excruciating experiences to date, and most of her comrades who had partaken in the lyrium when she had, had twisted into something monstrous–beasts who barely held any control of their minds. But she conquered it, being one of the few to do so; not nearly as well as General Samson, who was encased in the red lyrium, for at times she found herself fighting for control against the Song. Yet she could feel the new-found strength in her tensing her muscles…and she knew exactly how to use it.

Now, she was Will manifest. Now, success was all that mattered.

A sudden flash bright enough to illuminate the evening sky jolted Lucille’s attention and with squinting eyes she scanned the battleground. Like a mass of loosed snakes, lightning powerful and sharp struck and relentlessly tore through the Venatori and Red Templar ranks. The Inquisitor, staff in hand, stood with her arms outstretched, eyes aglow with magic as the storm decimated all but her companions. They fought on, surely feeling victory within their grasp…unaware of the real danger hidden in the shadows. A private, confident smile curved on Lucille’s lips.

A mage was a mage, no matter how high a position they had been raised.

Gaius shifted and held up his hand to signal the Venatori archer beside him, feeling that the trap was well enough in place. He set the arrow alight with flame; in but moments the true fight would begin.

_It’s time_ , Lucille thought. She would kill the Inquisitor, and The Elder One would at last become a god.

Then He would bring _her_ back.

—

_Crack!_ The last of their enemies fell to a frustrated, head-on collision with Cassandra’s silverite shield.

Their breaths were heavy with exhaustion, even Bull’s, though his seemed more from satisfaction than weariness. Still, as drained as she felt from that spell, Yavaena couldn’t help but let a fond smile free on her lips as she looked upon her friends–her family–chest filling with pride. Together, she knew they could face any challenge and emerge victorious; together, they would save this world from the looming darkness. Let those who would destroy us step into the light.

“Well fought,” Cassandra huffed, cleaning her blade on the grass. “Though I was certain you would set the entire field aflame with that last spell, my friend.”

“Ah, yeah…sorry,” Yavaena said, a note of laughter in the apology. She had made sure to reign in the spell as best as she could, not wanting to leave too harsh a scar. This place had already seen enough sadness. Thankfully, only a few scorched patches of grass and one rather unlucky stone monument would be its only reminder. “I had faith that you’d dispel any,” she cleared her throat, biting her lip playfully. “magic that was…out of control?”

Cassandra’s scoff was accompanied by a magnificent grin. “Of course you did.”

“At least there weren’t any demons this time,” Bull sighed heartily. “Good fight.”

Before Yavaena could jump from the boulder she noticed Solas’ body tense, his head darting back and forth until his gaze fell upon her, and then behind. A glint of fire burned in his suddenly wide eyes.

Literally.

“ _Vhenan_!” Solas shouted as if startled, lifting his staff to cast.

Simultaneously, a cry from Cassandra tore through the fast unfolding scene. “ _Move_!”

Entertaining no thought of hesitation, Yavaena stepped through the Fade, leaving behind a trail of cold dust. She started left and pivoted backwards, but–

It was as if gravity had suddenly named her its enemy, as if a force cruel and halting stole the breath from her lungs…and stripped the magic from her step.

She stumbled, meeting with the ground hard. She rolled and slid until she found a foothold, forcing a knee into the ground and grasping at the grass to bring her to a stop; it wasn’t the first time she had been dispelled and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. _Fenedhis!_ Acting on instinct and pushing through the dizziness and disorientation, Yavaena reached for the dagger at her back and crossed it over her ironbark staff–just in time to intercept a blow from a long, heavy sword.

Brown eyes blossomed red behind a metal helmet, bearing down on Yavaena in a ruthless glare.

“Mage,” the woman growled, brows furrowed deep.

“Templar,” Yavaena replied through gritted teeth. Her wrists were aching and would soon give out to the strain, so she dipped and rolled, the templar’s blade just missing her hip.

The templar remained still for a moment before slowly pulling her blade from the wounded ground. The woman turned to Yavaena, just as a sharp sting bit at her hand, an intense flare green and pulsing alerting to yet another threat. She looked to her friends, shocked at the distance between them. Tendrils of the Fade curled and grasped and clung to the air while the ground around it thrummed with demonic magic. Knowing the plight of her companions more important than any vendetta the templar held against her, Yavaena moved to make for the Rift.

An exasperated breath tumbled from her lips when the earth shook beneath her feet and a grotesque wall of pure red lyrium sprouted from the ground to block her path.

“You’re not going anywhere, mage.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is most appreciated and very welcomed. :)
> 
> [reposted from my tumblr account "fel-assan"]


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